


Outrageous

by immistermercury



Series: art student! freddie [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Freddie works in Kensington Market, Identity, Jim could do with the help of a design student, Jim is totally smitten, Lots of references to colour, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, both of them struggle with the expectations on them, early days of the band, everyone has to find their place in the world, freddie is obnoxiously flamboyant, freddie is totally smitten too, freddie struggles with religion, jim finds a new family in queen, no violence, references to blood, roger is honestly just a nice person, so does jim honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-30 03:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: Jim has never seen anybody quite like the man behind the counter before.





	1. Colour

**Author's Note:**

> This is my absolute favourite thing I've written so far. If you want to picture it further - Freddie is circa 1979, and I'm picturing Kensington Market to be like Camden Market (because it's been taken over by corporates, unlike Camden). Freddie is about 19, and Jim about 22.

Jim took the moment to admire the other man before he interrupted him. He sat behind the counter, tapping his pen to a rhythm that no one else could hear, staring up into the early sunset. He was wearing a heavy coat and boots to protect him from the cold, but Jim could still see the slight flush across his skin from the chill. His fingernails were painted black hastily, the ends just beginning to chip. 

The sun was setting to the west, providing a backdrop and distraction to the man before Jim. He could see the warm colours of the sky reflected in the man’s eyes, the way that he looked as though he were trying to memorise every single smudge of colour that he could see. The bold reds, the warm oranges, the cold blues that betrayed the weather that night in Kensington. 

Jim never frequented this type of place. It was filled with so many people like this, so many pretentious art types sipping coffee and thumbing through vintage jackets. He wasn’t sure what made this man so different in his eyes as he ticked every single box: old clothes, a smudge of makeup, the confident and haughty attitude that Jim couldn’t help but admit that intimidated him greatly.

Jim Hutton, hairdresser but most definitely not an art type. A precise eye, deft fingers, an impressive ability to recreate a picture. Absolutely no creativity of his own, no desire to stand out, happy to blend into the crowd, indistinguishable from the 9 to 5ers that littered the streets of central London. 

Jim was certain that this guy had to be an artist. There were too many telltale signs: the smudged lipstick on the coffee cup, the curly hair just this side of too messy, the paper beside him that was filled with little phrases and reminders that definitely weren’t anything to do with the stall.

Most of all, though, Jim saw it in his eyes. He saw that spark, that inquisitiveness and drive that could lead him anywhere. The art students always had it, the look that everything that was happening could become a masterpiece, that they could take the scene and paint it and remember every little detail down to the tiny bird sitting on the top of a stall. They had the eye to see colours that weren’t really there, greens in the shadows on the face and bright oranges in the highlights, mixtures that shouldn’t work together but worked so well with a little blending and a lot of confidence.

While Jim couldn’t see those colours in the same way, couldn’t see the world as a flush of watercolour and a smudge of acrylic, he always loved to watch those that could. It was like watching a different dimension, someone so caught up painting in their mind that they forgot that the outside world could be engaged with, could be touched and smelled. He could see the brush strokes inside their mind, could see the picture that formed there.

He took his eyes from the surroundings and back onto the man in front of him. Just brushing twenty. Jim thought about, if he could paint, the colours that he would use for the other man. His mind was filled with vibrants - scarlets, royal purples, ultraviolets for the deep set eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. Pastels for the highlights, a softer touch, the occasional touch of gold where the sun caught the high points of his face. Deep colours for his hair; the darkest of browns, rich blacks, another glossy gold on a few different curls. And those eyes, a deep hickory but highlighted in caramel, almost indistinguishable from the black of the pupil.

Okay, so maybe Jim could see the world in that way too.

“Can I help you?” Came a voice from behind the counter, pen resting in between his first and ring fingers. Jim heard a twang that he didn’t recognise dubbed over with an impossibly posh accent, the poster-boy for the Queen’s English. He smiled despite himself. Definitely an art student.

“I’m looking for some mirrors.” He replied, his voice sounding a little unsure of himself. The Irish weren’t always appreciated in these areas, and he could forgive himself for being a little cautious around somebody so well-spoken. “I work in the salon down the road. One of our hand mirrors was smashed earlier on, and the owner is into the whole… vintage style.” He cursed himself and how little he knew about design.

“This is a clothing stall, darling.” The man replied and Jim felt a light flush run down his cheeks. He was right about the scarlets, he knew immediately; scarlet is desire, is passion, is confidence and vivacity and that little smile that sat on the other man’s lips. The scarlet stained his own cheeks for the opposite reason, the shame and nervousness of an encounter with somebody so different to yourself. Of course he’d come to a clothing stall, the first place that looked vintage and just so happened to have a hot guy running it, and of course he’d embarrassed himself. “I can point you in the right direction, if you need it.” The man offered sweetly and Jim took a slow breath.

“Yeah, that would be great.” He said, it sounding to him like an admittance of defeat. He hated sympathy more than anything in the whole world. Sympathy was white, and so were innocence and purity, things which Jim despised. He’d left Carlow for the bustle of London, the black and white for the blues and greens and yellows and indigos, and it was his choice. “I don’t know too much about design.” He smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

The other man smiled, adding white to his painting. This white, however, was welcoming: it was clean, it was aid, it bled into the bright colours that Jim so desperately craved. “I’ve a diploma in design, my dear.” He stood up abruptly, his long coat swishing around him. It was one of those strange designs that Jim didn’t truly understand, one where green and purple can sit together and nothing will look out of place. “I’m getting off soon. How about I help you out?” He offered, looking intently into the Irishman’s eyes. Jim could feel his perception of the world shift in that moment, the moment that their eyes locked, suddenly able to see the greens that he’d been searching for his whole life.

“Can I have your name?” He asked, surprising himself with how much bolder he sounded. He felt himself blend in, a dark purple in the low light of the evening sunset. The sky had changed, blooming into the final mixture of golds and royal blues that would define the evening.

Royal. What a way to describe it. A way to describe him.

The other man swept a curl from his face before holding out his hand. “I’m Farro- Freddie.” His unsure voice became a little firmer. “Freddie Mercury.” He said, his voice surer. It was like velvet, warm to touch, rich against the skin.

As he said it, the stalls burst out into their evening lamplight, a series of warm lights shading Freddie’s face with colours that Jim had never imagined he would see. The tip of his nose was daffodil yellow, the corners of his eyes just touched with a very pale green, under his lip a dark wine colour.

His reality would never quite look the same again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Freddie.”


	2. Then I'll Get You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crushes are never spoken about fully, never more than an assumption and a series of metaphors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so strangely philosophical but that's the mood for this fic

London had represented the alien to Jim, and that was why he loved it. He loved how different it was to Ireland, how it seemed a community of acceptance, of converging identities, of art and of music and of people of interest. Kensington, in the midst of this, was like the rich icing on a cake, something so distinct yet so inextricably London.

 

Nowhere was the romance of a London life stronger than deep in Kensington Market. It was an alternate reality, somewhere where Jim forgot about the outside and was enveloped by the richness of experience, so far away from the blandness of living. Jim made absurd excuses to walk through whenever he could, buying little pieces of jewellery or candy or stopping to listen to the music that played, simple harmonic piano to the deepest, satin-smooth voices.

 

Jim fell in love with London, and London helped him fall in love with himself. London, Kensington itself, encouraged him to be all the things that were so invisible in Ireland. He was creative, he was sensitive, he was bold and ambitious, and he was gay. He wasn’t born to live in a two-up-two-down semi with three point four children and a dog. He was born with an itch that he needed to scratch, one that asked “what more?”, one that longed to know what exactly was out there and what of it he could have.

 

Initially, he had resented London, felt it an ostracising presence, somewhere where everybody was so anonymous and reserved, distant from one another.

 

It was all about meeting the right people, chasing the right experiences.

 

Jim ran his fingers over the counter of his favourite stall, flashing a smile at Roger from where he was attaching price tags to pieces of old clothing. The conversation flowed smoothly between them, pouring out, sounding and tasting like the richness of antique wine. However, almost inevitably, the conversation came back to Freddie. He attracted them like gravity does the objects of the universe, drawing them closer into his own personal orbit, never too close yet never too far to reach.

 

“How does he feel about flowers?” Jim asked, trying to play down his blush by fanning his face, pretending that he was too hot. “Too conventional, or timeless?”

 

Roger laughed in response, making Jim’s heart jump a little with anxiety. He’d found a friend in Roger but still found himself seeking validation and approval over the little things. “Don’t let the faux fur convince you that he’s sophisticated. He’s doing graphics at a poly, remember.”

 

Jim found himself laughing despite himself. It was good to be grounded in the facts, to be reminded that Freddie wasn’t some extra-terrestrial being designed to perplex.

 

“He’s a big romantic at heart.” Roger grinned as he walked over to the counter. “Freesias are his favourite. The yellow ones.” He added.

 

Jim nodded along, making a note of  _ yellow freesias _ in his head. “I’m just nervous.” He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “There wasn’t much of a gay scene in Carlow. I’ve fooled around with a couple of guys, but none of them were like Freddie.”

 

“That’s because there’s no one quite like Freddie Mercury, darling.” Roger put on an overly posh voice as he said it, sorting out the mess of papers that Freddie had left there the day before. “I don’t know many guys that would go out on stage in just their boxers and a crop top. Then again, I’ve never met anyone like Freddie either.”

 

Jim was about to speak, but was cut off as the piano started in the middle of the market. It wasn’t uncommon to hear it played, there was almost constantly somebody fooling around on it, creating a warm atmosphere, but this playing was different. It was no classical piece, no casual player messing around with a half-hearted tune. This was somebody confident, somebody who understood the piano, someone who could craft a piece.

 

Jim looked over his shoulder, revelling in the beauty of the notes as they washed over him. The whole market seemed to hold its breath in a moment of silence, animation coming as soon as the hands touched the keys again.

 

He glanced back at Roger who was humming a melody over the top. When their eyes met, Roger broke out into a grin. “He always fucking does this. Likes to make it known to everyone that he’s around for the next few hours. He uses that fucking piano like it’s a fanfare for his presence.”

 

Jim raised an eyebrow, pausing a second to comprehend what Roger was saying. “That’s Freddie?” He responded after a beat, the swell of the notes almost drowning out his decidedly weakened voice. 

 

“That’s Freddie.” Roger replied. “How else would I know the words?” 

 

Jim couldn’t help his confusion. “Words?” He echoed back. There was a strange code going on, a half-conversation of which Jim supplied half the lines but none of the understanding.

 

“He hasn’t told you? God, from the amount that he’s talked about you-” Roger gave Jim a look, a hey-you-should-really-hurry-up-with-this kind of look, and bent down to file away some receipts. “I would’ve thought you’d know every single bit of his life by now. We’re in a band. Freddie plays piano, and he’s the lead singer.”

 

“He sings too?” Jim asked, leaning over the counter to look at Roger. He was sat on the ground, four messy piles around him, trying to make some sense of Freddie’s definition of ‘organising’. 

 

“Of course I can sing, darling. It’s the four extra incisors.” A voice came from behind Jim and an arm appeared around his waist. “Besides, I’m perfect lead-singer material. You know I love the attention of the whole room on me.” Freddie grinned as he walked behind the counter.

 

Jim watched him, jealous of the confidence that he radiated, the persona centred around that voice, at once so comforting yet so exotic. 

 

“Roger, my dear, you are not going to believe the day that I’ve had-” He started, before noticing that Roger was messing up his order. He huffed. “I spent ten minutes organising those yesterday!” He insisted, and Roger looked up at him incredulously.

 

“Hello to you, too. Fred, I cannot, for the fucking life of me, work out what the order of these are.” Roger’s irritated tone was tinged with a fondness for Freddie, amused despite himself at the unnecessary drama of the situation.

 

“Well, it’s obvious. Those items were red, those ones were yellow, those were beige and those were green.” He pointed at each pile in time. 

 

Roger burst out laughing. “Why would you do it like that?” He asked. Freddie laughed, rolling his eyes and catching a glimpse of Jim, obviously amused by the conversation.

 

“How’s my favourite little Irishman?” He asked, leaning on the counter. Roger watched them, trying to stifle a comment on the obvious looks that they had been throwing each other for the best part of a month. “How’s the world treating you, darling?”

 

“It’s pretty dull, love.” He responded, the pet name slipping out before he could think about it. He had grown so accustomed to Freddie’s darlings and dears that he had begun to think about what he would call him in return, what name would go well with a morning kiss and cup of tea.

 

Roger wolf-whistled, and Freddie kicked him behind the counter.

 

“Then you need to do something to make it more exciting, my dear.” He replied, grabbing a pen and scrawling the address of his flat on the back of Jim’s hand.

 

Jim watched as the pen formed swooping letters, a house number and street appearing. He wrist tingled where Freddie held it, ever-so-careful. Freddie was a naturally hands-on person, forever planting kisses on cheeks and hugging in inappropriate situations, but this was different. This was tender, carefully holding him in place, so intense and so purposeful, well thought out, every movement deliberate. Jim’s other hand came up to rest on the counter, cradling his head as the artist worked.

 

Freddie pressed a slow kiss to the inside of his wrist, and let go.

 

“Come and find me.”


	3. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie has less than a fun evening, but the right man appears on his doorstep to make it all better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes after Freddie has suffered a homophobic attack, and so has a few slurs mentioned. There's a lot of references to blood (as the result of a broken nose) in this one, so please beware if that will upset you! Still fluff though, there's no actual violence in this chapter :)

Freddie leaned his head back as the blood threatened to start dripping from his nose again. He refused to take his fingers from the keys, finding solace in their music. It was a long time since he’d had a night this bad, one that ended with his face looking the state that it did now.

His eyes were outlined in dark kohl, but it was smudged down to the sharp points of his cheekbones. He had a nasty gash above his eyebrow and his nose was still dripping blood, the crimson staining his skin, paler than usual. He’d lost some of his colour and warmth that night. The tear tracks made it more pronounced, tore a light path amongst the sultry colours, a mark of shame amongst the smudges of bravery that he knew he shouldn’t still be wearing.

His nose was throbbing, as was his left cheekbone; he’d heard the crack, but refused to acknowledge it. It was a long time since he’d last gotten into a bar fight, and it showed. He was out of practice in defending himself, having to rely upon Roger and Brian to get him out of the situation, too little too late. His confidence was too far up, he was too pushy and he knew it, but he fed off the attention that he naturally drew towards him.

His hands came back upon the piano, his knees resting in the soft mattress beneath him. He daren’t lay down for the risk of choking on his own blood. He rolled his head back, feeling the pull and stretch of the tired muscles of his neck. He liked to remind himself that he was mostly intact after a Bulsara escapade had gone horribly wrong, liked to remind himself that his fingers could still play a tune, that all his extremities were intact - except his nose on this occasion, but it wasn’t the first time that it had played casualty.

He found the piano soothing, knowing that it drowned out all the noise around him and at least half the noise in his head. When he was feeling like this - shaky, vulnerable, afraid to be alone, not used to the silence of his flat - there was no better remedy than the piano. He hummed to the melody, relaxing into the sound, moving along with the sounds, the oh-so-familiar sounds of the long nights spent with his best friends.

He was startled by a knock at the door, not expecting anybody at that hour, and all the more paranoid from his earlier experience. He approached the door slowly, looking through the spyhole, flushing as soon as he saw it was Jim.

He reached up to touch his face, noting the blood that came back on his hand. His shirt was stained with blood, some also having dropped onto his jeans.

Freddie Mercury was embarrassed, so far from the usual confident and self-assured atmosphere that he radiated.

“One second, darling-” He said, although his voice sounded rough and unsure. He grabbed a cloth from the kitchen and hastily pulled the door shut again, pressing it against the tender skin of his nose before he opened the front door. “How can I help, Mr. Hutton?” He asked, the dramatic intentions drowned out by the worrying image he presented.

“Freddie-” Jim started, his smile when he saw the state of the man in front of him. “God, what happened to you?” He asked, leaning forward instinctively to cup Freddie’s face in his hand. 

“Bar fight.” Freddie smiled wryly, the picture in front of Jim becoming evermore terrifying as blood ran from the cloth in his hand. “Some men get a kick out of beating up faggots, my dear.” He replied, sniffing quickly before coughing at the blood in his mouth.

Jim felt a tug in his heart as he noticed the tear tracks that Freddie had tried to rub away. “I was going to suggest that we go out, but I think tonight is the perfect night for a boys’ night in.” He smiled lightly at Freddie.

Jim took a minute to look around the hallway, the room reflecting Freddie’s pure essence back to him. It was dark, full of blacks and reds and floral, bunches of lamps lit to scare away the encroaching darkness of the night. Jim marvelled at the decor around him - although he never had Freddie down as a man into florals, it also didn’t surprise him. He looked at the dark wood doors in front of him, all closed, and tried to think straight. “Where’s your bathroom, love?” He asked quietly. “I think we should get you cleaned up.”

Freddie led him to the end of the corridor, pushing the door open with his shoulder. As commanded, he sat on the side of the bath, removing the cloth from his nose carefully. Jim grabbed some makeup wipes from under the sink, noting with a smile all the lotions and potions that Freddie kept to make himself pretty: the man even had baby powder, and Jim pondered for a second on his use for it.

He carefully wiped the kohl from around Freddie’s eyes, his touch feather-light, obviously concerned by every noise of pain that Freddie made in return. He knelt in front of him, taking Freddie’s hand and pressing a soft kiss to it as he gave him a break from the wipes.

Freddie’s smile was languid, and his eyes were tired, clearly more affected by the night than he would ever admit to Jim. “Thank you, darling.” He said quietly, tilting his chin to help Jim clean his nose, barely even wincing despite the hot rushes of pain that it sent running through him.

Jim felt comforted when Freddie’s face was cleaned, glad that he could be the one to make it all better. He was a romantic at heart, wanting to care for somebody properly, to make good on all of the wedding vows - for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

He almost laughed at himself. Here he was, on the bathroom floor of a guy that he’d known for a month, thinking about wedding vows.

Jim glanced over at Freddie, who was looking back at him intently. Freddie made him feel like an enigma, a puzzle, like he had the mysteriousness that he’d always regarded in others with a kind of jealousy. He saw Freddie as one of those enigmas, a mixture of strangely conflicting personality traits that seemed to work so perfectly together: he was effeminate but so masculine, sensitive but so crass, vulnerable but so daring, scared but so bold. Jim admired his ability to be whatever he wanted to be, no attention paid to the laws of logic or the laws of physics and biology.

“Let’s go upstairs.” Freddie murmured.

The bed was a lure to sleep, the two men curled up like children amongst pillows and blankets. Freddie clung to him like a child to a teddy bear and Jim loved the feeling, loved feeling so wanted and so necessary. He floated in a sleep so peaceful, not missing the undeniable scent of Freddie on the covers around him, expensive cologne and a little musk, a heavy floral scent also hanging over the two of them. Jim smiled in his sleep. An enigma.

Jim woke when it was still pitch black outside to the sound of a melody coming from the piano behind him. The music swelled like it had in the market, a mixture of expression and intellect, of the overwhelm he was feeling coupled with the urge to show off how he could make the piano sing.

A piano as a headboard. How incredibly Freddie Mercury.

Jim rolled over, looking over at Freddie’s face, his lips bitten pink in concentration. He winced when his teeth found the split in his lip from earlier in the night. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were closed, he was thinking so intently, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest betraying the anxious feelings that were bubbling up inside him.

Maybe it was the time of the morning that made Jim do it, or maybe it was the scent that made everything feel slightly unreal, or maybe it was the fact that Jim craved everything about the other man.

He leaned over and kissed Freddie, and God did he shiver when Freddie’s hands came to his hair, kissing him so deeply.

Like the moment their eyes met, Jim recognised that the moment was changing his life. This was love, this was novel-romance, this was an experience that Jim had craved ever since he was young, ever since he’d realised that it was okay to kiss boys instead of kissing girls. Jim had remembered the nights of lying awake wondering what it was like to fall in love, whether it hit you all at once or whether it crept up on you gradually. He smiled against Freddie’s lips, kissing his lower lip slowly. Love was gradual, but it was insistent once it had been recognised, slow but then all at once.

As they broke away, Jim ran his thumb along Freddie’s cheekbone. “Do you want to talk about it, my love?” He asked softly, nothing but the mark of absolute care and devotion in his voice. Freddie looked up at him like Jim was all that was holding him together, clinging to the hazy eye contact that they made in that moment, before that lazy grin spread back across his face. Jim lived for that smile, the one that felt like the true Freddie, one that hadn’t been beaten down into submission.

“I’d rather just kiss you.” Freddie breathed, moving forward to kiss him again, wrapping his arms around the neck of the man that seemed to hold every part of him to ransom.


	4. Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best friends aren't always the easiest ones to explain your feelings to.

Freddie lay back on the couch in Brian and Roger’s flat, cigarette butt enclosed in his lips. He closed his eyes, listening to the scratch of pens on paper as they studied for upcoming exams. His sketchbook was lying on the floor beside him, pencils discarded in a similarly haphazard manner. He took a long drag on the cigarette, blowing out the smoke slowly, silently wishing it was something a little stronger. He had passed off the cuts and bruises on his face to particularly rough sex and the pain radiating from his face as a hangover: he assumed that the others would take his story like a spoonful of honey, it being carefully crafted to be oh-so-Freddie. 

 

John walked into the room and Freddie looked over at him, noting the way that he recoiled from the humidity of the room. The height of summer had graced them, and with it had brought the inevitable summertime sadness of exams. Freddie himself was slaving through his sketchbook, desperately trying to design something -  _ anything - _ of value, but his creativity was seemingly fogged up by the pain, acting like a mist to his visions.

 

“You look like shit.” John said conversationally, grabbing his books from his bag and moving towards the dining table. Brian regarded him with an eyebrow while Roger muttered to himself, engrossed in memorising the bones of the face.

 

How ironic, Freddie smiled wryly.

 

“Thank you, darling.” He replied dryly, blowing a cloud of smoke in John’s general direction, acrid like his discomfort. “I’ve already had the onslaught of questions from the others. It’s just a little bruising, I was-”

 

Roger let his pen fall down from his hand with a clatter. “You know, Fred-” He started, cutting off Freddie’s voice immediately. “You’re trying to convince a biologist that you haven’t broken half of your face, and it’s not fucking work.” He said, completely unequivocal. “You seem to have forgotten that we were at the bar with you. You don’t have to lie about it.” Roger’s tone softened, watching the way that Freddie’s lip trembled just slightly as he took the last drag on his cigarette.

 

Freddie sat up, grabbing his sketchbook again, messy hair falling in his face as he tried not to make eye contact with the others. His fingers shook as he grasped his pencil, swallowing heavily as he started to sketch again.

 

Roger sighed and leant on his hand. “I’m sorry for snapping.” He said quietly. “You know I hate it when you lie, Freddie. You need to be honest with yourself about what happened.”

 

Freddie moved his hair from his face, wiping his eyes hastily. “I got the shit kicked out of me!” He replied, his tone exasperated and hiding the definite shake in his voice. “Because I tried it on with a guy in a bar who thought he was really into it until he realised that kissing another guy makes you a fucking faggot!”

 

He stood up, pencils clattering across the floor. Something in Brian’s heart ached as he swore he could hear the leads shatter, remembering how long Freddie had saved for those, how they symbolised his hope for his art degree. Freddie stormed into the kitchen, gripping onto the sink, knuckles white as he breathed heavily, willing himself not to cry. It wasn’t his fault that he cried when he was angry, and fuck if he wasn’t hurt right now.

 

He poured himself a glass of cold water, gulping it down quickly, the chill spreading right through to his fingertips and raising goosebumps on his arms. He breathed out slowly, looking at the sun from the apartment window, allowing himself to be bathed and redeemed by its warmth.

 

Brian came into the room, gently resting a hand on Freddie’s back. He fought the urge to shrug him off, rationalising with himself; he wasn’t angry with his best friends, he was hurt and embarrassed by the constant retelling of the stories that repeated just how different he was from everybody else. 

 

Freddie pushed the glass aside, pressing his cold fingers to the burning skin of his face in an attempt to cool it down. “I was too harsh to Roger, wasn’t I?” He asked quietly, looking over at Brian. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

 

Brian hummed lightly, grabbing a cloth and running it under cold water. He wrung it out and pressed it over Freddie’s face carefully, helping cool him down. “You were.” He replied quietly. “He’s right, Fred. It is broken.” He carefully felt the bones, trying not to put too much pressure on and moving his hand whenever Freddie winced.

 

“I know.” He said quietly. “Fuck, Brian, I know. He’s right about all of it.” Freddie replied, closing his eyes and letting out a small noise when Brian touched his cheekbone, immediately moving away. “Fucking hurts.” He murmured, but his voice was small and apologetic.

 

Brian took away the cloth when it began to warm up and moved away from Freddie. There was a quick moment of silence between them before he spoke again. “How’s everything with you and Jim?” He asked softly, leaning against the counter.

 

Freddie recoiled at the mention of his name, a flood of guilt rushing through him. “He doesn’t know the whole story. Thinks I got beaten for looking gay.” Freddie ran his thumb over one of his rings. 

 

“Trouble in paradise?” Brian asked quietly. 

 

“I can’t keep track of everything that’s going on, darling. I kissed him last night. I’m scared that he wants a commitment.” Freddie sucked on his lower lip, trying to figure out how to articulate himself. His mouth was talking now, the logical side of his brain telling him to be quiet before he admitted something that he didn’t want Brian to know being silenced. “I don’t know how I feel. He- he makes me feel differently to everybody else. Kind of warm, I guess. But I can’t just settle on him.”

 

Brian cocked an eyebrow, and Freddie covered his blush with his hands.

 

“I get to be Freddie Mercury around him, and that’s fun. But Freddie Mercury doesn’t do commitment. He kisses guys and gets beaten the shit out of before he kisses a different man in bed.” Freddie laughed despite himself, leaning back against the counter and tipping his head back. “And he’s in love with Freddie Mercury. I want him to be in love with Freddie Bulsara.”

 

Brian laughed softly. “This is the problem with the façade, Freddie. I warned you.” Freddie nodded in response, letting out a sigh. “Has he met Mary yet? He might understand you better then. See your sensitive side as well as your outrageous side.”

 

Freddie felt in his pockets for his cigarettes, suddenly needing another. “Not yet.” He said quietly, the words muffled behind hands and a lighter.

 

Brian nodded, glancing disapproving as the end of the cigarette glowed orange. “Well, you said that she’s okay with you experimenting like this. Being open. Think of this as a substitute bring-him-home-to-the-family.” He smiled warmly, and Freddie’s heart ached. 


	5. Listen to the Mad Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim never expected to see someone so able to command both a crowd and his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Freddie is singing here is Big Spender (think the Hammersmith Odeon performance, 1975!).

Jim never considered himself to be the type of man to stay in on a Friday night. He frequented the local bars, never afraid to go alone and never afraid of the experiences that he might have. Of course, it was different for him now that he was getting closer to Freddie: he wasn’t going to go home with anybody in the interests of his commitment, but he did enjoying surveying the crowd and the odd kiss that came with it.

 

When Jim stepped into the room, he instantaneously melted into the unified mass of bodies around him, being infected by their energy. The music was louder than usual, and more people paid attention, more people called out to the frontman.

 

Jim had never considered himself especially into music, never one to seek out a gig, but he found himself tapping on the bar to the fast pace of the drums. The drums melted into the bass, which flowed into the guitar, and the backdrop provided such a contrast to the voice: so melodic, but so rough.

 

He ordered himself a drink, looking over the people to catch a glimpse of the band at the side. He regarded them as another student band, but a good one at that - one more serious about their music than just bashing their instruments as loud as possible. He watched the frontman moving across the stage with a lazy curiosity. He found himself intoxicated on cheap beer and the sway of the frontman’s hips, eliciting a lustful curiosity.

 

Jim moved through the crowd, drink in hand, as the music picked up its pace. His curiosity piqued as the long fingers of the frontman ran themselves over the tie around his waist. He recognised the tune, something musical theatre and oh-so-sexy; although his perspective was definitely influenced as the kimono slipped off one shoulder, revealing a sharp collarbone popping from under the neckline of his top. Jim raked his eyes over the figure in front of him, taking in the small shirt and boxers that he was wearing, feeling a little something flare up in his chest.

 

He tried to stamp it down as he looked up, noticing the long hair, the sharp cheekbones, the pronounced overbite of the singer.

 

When he met his eyes, Jim was taken aback.

 

That was Freddie Mercury, shooting a wink in his direction as he shook his hips onstage.

 

An unusual emotion flared up in his chest, a strange twist of pride in seeing his man command a room like this -  _ his man,  _ the one he could rely on to put a smile on his face with a quaint gesture, a lipstick print on a coffee cup, an inappropriate call during a shift. In that moment, Jim recognised that his days of hookups and casual flirting were over: the frontman had commandeered his heart, taken it into a new realm. A realm of coffee, of floral scents and patterns and gentle kisses pressed to the backs of hands in an attempt to be inconspicuous.

 

Jim Hutton, three-hundred-and-eighty miles from home, desperately in love with an art student and singer, somebody that represented the antithesis of the establishment of his childhood. No marriage, no children, no convention: cigarettes in bed, living fast and hard and hitting every barricade on the way with enough force to break through it through determination. Jim was in love with slow kisses and soft touches, alcohol-stained breath and broken noses, sharp voices and thick notes of the piano, caring and pushing, pulling and fighting, coming back together like planets in a broken orbit. He was in love with dark eyes, passionate eyes, lustful eyes, innocent eyes, lips stained with the colour of the day, an overbite and such a smile. He was in love with soft touches of the fingertips, hard grasps of the chin. He was in love with swaying hips and romantic pretences, the actuality of his life drowned out in the sudden novella of his lifestyle.

 

There were two drinks on the counter by the time Freddie had made his way over, his countenance displaying a strange mixture of peace, of animation, of excitement and resignation. His look was far away, the same glaze as when he was singing, when he was somewhere other than a bar in Kensington: far away in Australia or America or Europe, lost in his own romantic pretensions.

 

He didn’t even speak to Jim before he kissed him, those soft fingers resting themselves against his cheeks, holding him so carefully but so firmly. Jim was a private person by nature, but there was something about the outrageous nature of his boyfriend -  _ not yet _ , Jim reminded himself - that made him want to be more daring, to live a life not veiled by the fear of others.

 

“Darling.” Freddie murmured against his lips as he broke away from the kiss, his hazy eyes coming back to the little bar in Kensington, grounding himself in the adoration in Jim’s eyes. “I’m so glad you came.” His voice was strangely earnest and genuine for a man who’d made a show of himself onstage, leaving nothing to the imagination. Jim loved him all the more for it, the man a strange dichotomy of thought and action, so fixed in one moment and fluid the next.

 

“I didn’t know you were here, my love.” Jim smiled as he combed his fingers through Freddie’s messy hair. “Queen, hey?” He asked playfully, enjoying the private moment between them, feeling separated from the rest of the world by an invisible wall that protected him from others’ looks and thoughts.

 

Freddie kissed him again, slow and drawn out, chaste but so powerful. “It’s outrageous.” He replied against Jim’s lips with a smile. “I’m outrageous, my dear.” He added, pulling away slowly to take a breath.

 

Jim laughed, wrapping his arms around Freddie’s neck. “That you are, Mr. Mercury.” He rested his gaze on Freddie’s face, drinking in the confidence of the smile in front of him, infected by his vivacity and passion for life. “I’d like to hear you sing more.”

 

Freddie tilted his head back as he laughed, loud and unashamed, the attention of the room seeming to focus on him in an instant. “Maybe you can make me sing.” He replied, running a thumb over Jim’s lower lip. 

 

Jim had never felt more alive than he did back at Freddie’s flat, pressed against the wall in the hall with the other man kissing him almost ruthlessly, holding him captive. There had never been a more willing captive in history, Jim thought momentarily, the thought making him smile into the kiss. The wall was cold behind him, a brief respite from the hot London evening, his proximity to Freddie Mercury doing nothing to reduce his core temperature.

 

He rested his head against the wall as Freddie’s lips found first his jawline, then his neck, every kiss hot and passionate but also so tender. He never pushed any boundaries, his lips so in tune with every minute movement of Jim’s body in response; every sigh, every flutter of his eyelashes, every whisper of his name.

 

Jim had no doubt that in the morning he would be sharing a cigarette on the bedroom balcony.


	6. White Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of debauchery is never without casualties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thank you to all of my regular commenters: calimera, pinkypie, aussiebornwriter and heartland - I love you guys (and I'm sorry!).

Jim came back into the moment; Freddie’s lips against his in a hazy kiss, dominance drowned out by a mutual want between the two men. He had gotten caught in his mind, imagining what was to come instead of focusing on Freddie pressing him into the wall.

 

And suddenly there were hands against his hips, hot lips pressed against the strip of skin between the waistband of his jeans and the hem of his shirt. “Freddie-” Jim let out a breathless laugh as Freddie dropped onto his knees in front of him, so disbelieving that he had the man of his dream in this position. “Gorgeous, where’s your bedroom?” He asked, his previous memories fogged out by the lust of their situation.

 

He took a moment to admire Freddie’s face - he looked thoroughly debauched, his skin shining with the sweat of a good performance, his lips bitten red, his eyes holding that far-away look that he held onto when he was lost in his own romantic pretensions. It took Jim a minute to even notice that Freddie had paused, hands on his belt, head cocked as though he was listening.

 

Out of curiosity, he started to listen too, although his concentration was still drawn to Freddie’s hot breath directly where he wanted him most.

 

His heart leapt into his throat as he heard footsteps echoing through the flat, the grating metal as the door handle was pushed down, the tired squeak of the hallway door.

 

“Freddie, darling? Is that you?” A voice called - a female voice, Jim registered somewhere in the back of his head, a voice that seemed to compliment Freddie’s twang so well with its smoothness. He felt frozen to the wall, the heat of the situation being displaced by the cold tension in the air.

 

Freddie vaguely heard Jim murmur his name before he was staring Mary in the eye; in that moment, both personalities fell around him in a multitude of fractured pieces. There was Freddie Bulsara, the good boy with the girl on his arm, a lovely little blonde fiancee who would cook and clean while he made all of his dreams a reality.

 

But on the other side, Freddie Mercury disappeared. The artist, the singer, the vivacious, outrageous, debauched and gorgeous pinnacle of cosmopolitan London fading, corrupting, warping into what he really was.

 

“Freddie?” Mary asked again, almost physically recoiling from the sight in front of her. And no, Freddie thought, this was all wrong - she was supposed to be away, supposed to be out, supposed to be somewhere other than in the hallway, staring at her fiance on his knees in front of another man.

 

“Mary-” Freddie replied weakly, losing all hope of maintaining that confidence that Jim knew so well. Jim moved away, seeing the room again with a different perspective: the heavy floral scent, the lotions under the sink, both sides of the bed crumpled. It wasn’t part of Freddie Mercury, it was the whole of another person, another  _ woman _ at that.

 

The romantic novella that Jim had been living in had been torn up before his eyes. Those colours that Freddie had made him see in their first moment together, the greens in the shadows of the face and the platinum in the highlights, it all seemed too gaudy now. Too fake. It wasn’t outrageous, it was desperate: it was seeking attention, seeking validation, forcing a way into a world that wasn’t interested in him.

 

Mary spoke again, crossing her arms as she looked away from them both. “What, exactly, is going on, Freddie?”

 

The young man sat there, suddenly unable to speak. The forever beautifully composed Freddie Mercury, the forever eloquent Freddie Bulsara, was rendered unable to defend himself, unable to find the words to explain what was going on. 

 

“I’m going.” Jim stated quickly, leaving only the heavy sound of the door shutting and the thick silence between the couple in the room.

 

Freddie couldn’t have both. He couldn’t have the unassuming, beautiful fiancee, the girl to hang off his arm and to treat him like a king. He couldn’t have the man for his gratification, for his experimentation, to treat him like a queen.

 

Hearts weren’t one of Brian’s many hypotheses.

 

The whole situation was built on many half-truths and complete lies, pretending that Mary knew and pretending that she didn’t exist, pretending that he hadn’t been so caught up in his adoration for Jim that he’d forgotten to treat him like a person.

 

“That was Jim.” Freddie’s voice came out quiet as he stood up, pushing his hair from his face. “I’ve - I’ve been seeing him for a little while.”

 

Mary’s face darkened, a disgusting mixture of hurt and betrayal that made Freddie’s stomach twist like he was about to be sick. All the promises: to love and protect, to care for and look after, in sickness and in health, til death do us part, came apart in that one expression.

 

Mary didn’t explode when she was angry, she wasn’t volatile in the same way as Freddie was. If Freddie was a firecracker then she was a sparkler, fizzing in a calculated manner and destructive to touch.

 

Wordlessly, Mary slipped off her engagement ring - Freddie’s stomach twisted desperately again, hurting so physically that he had to clutch at it. Seconds later, it was in the palm of his left hand, fingers curled around the metal that was cooling so fast, losing the warmth of Mary’s skin in that moment.

 

“Go and find him.” She said. “And leave your keys here. I’ll pack your bags.”

 

In a moment, Freddie had found his words again, too many, so many that they all tried to move out of his mouth in one grand gesture, the two sides of him trying to blend together, to be mellifluous.

 

Instead, the words hit against each other, tripped over each other, pushed each other around until the sentences were jumbled, until the sentiments made no sense.

 

“Stop.” She said. Her calm scared Freddie: he was used to dealing with the others, the others who exploded or imploded and went out with a bang in moments. He was scared of this woman, the one person who knew his Bulsara side so completely, and the way that her anger was prolonged, the way that it would fizz for hours, for days, for weeks and maybe even months.

 

He stood outside the door of his Kensington flat - never his flat, he reminded himself: it was hers. His shoulders bowed as he leant against the heavy wood, locked out of his own home.

 

The ring burnt a hole in his palm.


	7. Home Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie spends the night in his childhood bed. Roger is on the receiving end of the bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's gonna tell you to get your shit together, it's Roger Taylor.

Freddie woke up to a timid knock at his door. He took a moment to look around the small room: the upright piano in the corner, the bed narrow but warm around him, the big bay windows that still felt like nothing in comparison to the balcony that he had at home. His childhood room was a snapshot of Freddie Mercury’s half-formed personality, stifled by conservative Christianity and a fear of paint on walls. 

 

He rolled over towards the door, sitting up slowly. He brought the blankets closer around himself when he realised that he was half naked before calling out a weak “Enter!”, noting the pounding in his head. He relaxed at the sight of his sister, but immediately flushed as he remembered the state that he’d been in when she’d answered the door in the early hours.

 

“I thought you might want these.” Kash said quietly, handing him some painkillers and some water. Freddie began to protest, but she raised a hand to silence him. “Don’t worry about it.” She smiled. “You were pretty wrecked last night. And don’t worry, I told Mom that you’re sick, I didn’t mention you drinking.”

 

Freddie smiled gratefully, running a hand through his messy hair. “Thank you, darling.” He said quietly, wincing at how the pet name sounded without the confidence of Freddie Mercury behind it. “I should probably have a shower.” He murmured, more to himself than anything else.

 

“Too right. You smell like absolute hell.” She replied playfully, shooting him a kind smile. “I’ll grab you some towels. You still like two, right?” She checked, leaning against the doorframe. “By the way, you totally owe me the story of last night for all this.” She added, turning away to go to the laundry cupboard.

 

Freddie eased himself out of bed, finding a clean pair of boxers, an old pair of jeans and a shirt to wear from the clothes he’d left behind when he moved out. Once in the bathroom, he found a spare toothbrush to help clean himself up slightly; he stole some of Kash’s shampoo, figuring that she wouldn’t mind after everything else. 

 

He looked himself over in the mirror. He looked rough, he couldn’t deny it: the bruising around his nose looked more pronounced and he was sporting an ugly swelling on his left cheekbone. He touched it gingerly, its presence reminding him of the night that Jim had cleaned it up. He sighed and leaned forward onto the counter, the memories of the night before weighing heavily on his chest. He knew that he had to choose, and knew who he wanted to choose, but he also wasn’t sure if it was too late to be able to choose, or whether he’d alienated both options.

 

Freddie’s inner monologue was disturbed by another knock on the door, Kash again. “There’s a visitor for Mr. Freddie Mercury.” She said through the door, smiling when Freddie opened it up. “A blonde guy. Says he’s from the market.” She added, seeing Freddie’s immediate unease. At the mention of Roger, however, he relaxed and headed downstairs to the door.

 

He wasn’t expecting the smack across the face that came with his arrival.

 

Freddie grasped his cheek and nose, feeling his hand come back wet with blood. “Thanks.” He said in a rough voice, grabbing a tissue from the box on the counter and holding it to his nose. “Not like you told me it was broken or anything, darling.” His tone dripped with passive aggression.

 

“Jim’s been in tears.” Roger spat back. “You asshole! You knew exactly what you were doing!” He crossed his arms as Freddie tilted his head back lightly, pinching tightly at the bridge of his nose despite the searing pain that spread over his face.

 

“I don’t see why he went to you.” Freddie replied, attempting to keep a tone of nonchalance, but the tremble in his voice betrayed his guilt.

 

“Because I’m his friend, Freddie.” Roger glanced over Freddie with total contempt. “He doesn’t have too many in London, and he feels totally played by the person he was closest to.”

 

“Roger-” Freddie warned as Kash stared at the two of them, paralysed by the sight of her brother with blood beginning to make its way over his hand.

 

“And because he knew you wouldn’t show your fucking face at the market today. He knew that you’d be hiding here like when you were seventeen and first called a faggot on the bus-”

 

“Roger!” Freddie shouted, silencing him immediately. All of his Freddie Mercury secrets were coming out uncontrollably in front of the people who didn’t know him, didn’t even know Freddie Bulsara, the ones who only knew Farrokh Bulsara.

 

Kash came forward when she saw how badly Freddie was shaking and swallowed hard. “I think you should go.” She said quietly to Roger. “I don’t think Freddie’s really up to visitors right now.”

 

Roger looked over them both. Although he was angry with Freddie, it did hurt to see him without the usual confidence that saturated every movement, every word, every moment of his life. “You need to talk to Jim.” He said, his voice quieter. “You can’t avoid this, Freddie. It’ll eat you up inside.”

 

He turned to walk away but Freddie felt himself lurch forward and grab his shoulder. “Wait.” His voice sounded timid but Roger stopped nonetheless, glancing back at Freddie. “I think I need to explain what happened. I- I could do with some advice.” He smiled weakly, the emotion so pitiful when smeared with emotional hurt and physical blood.

 

Roger found himself lying on Freddie’s bed while the other man cleaned his face again, his touch feather-light as to not disturb the reinforced break. “Sorry about your nose.” He said quietly, trying to assess how much damage he could do with a slap when it was already broken. “You might want to see a doctor about it.”

 

Freddie looked over at Roger in the mirror. “I’d rather not. Doctors have a tendency to blame everything on the fact that I’m gay.” He responded, pressing ice against it as he went to lie down next to Roger. “I fucked up.” He admitted after a moment of silence, gazing at the ornamental carvings on the ceiling.

 

“You fucked up.” Roger echoed, looking over at Freddie. “Why didn’t you just tell us all the truth about Mary? The rest of us feel like fools too, you know?”

 

Freddie sighed, closing his eyes briefly as he tried to formulate a reply. “I’m three different people, darling. Each person has something that they want, the truths that need to apply for them to get that outcome, and a preferred way of making it work. Freddie Mercury wants a boyfriend, so he can’t have a  fiancée , so he lies about the serious relationships in his life. Freddie Bulsara wants a  fiancée, so he lies about seeing other people. Farrokh Bulsara wants to disappear from existence because he’s boring and self-conscious.”

 

Roger huffed out a little sad laugh. “Jesus Christ. You don’t even know what you want.”

 

“I do.” Freddie insisted immediately. “I want to be Freddie Mercury. I couldn’t be happy with Mary even if I tried so hard. I can’t love her in the same way as I love a man. In the same way as I love Jim.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair.

 

“You’ve got a lot of work to do.” Roger said quietly, looking around the room. “Do you even know who Jim is? Do you know his favourite colour, what coffee he orders, his hobbies? Or do you just know his cock, Freddie?’ He sighed. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

 

“It’s true.” Freddie closed his eyes and threw an arm over his face, hangover washing over him in waves. “I don’t, you’re right. I don’t know anything about him. I got swept up in that novel-like romance where you don’t have to ask any of those questions because the omniscient narrator knows all the answers.”

 

“Love doesn’t work like that.” Roger replied. “It’s not just physical, Fred. You need to work out who you are, what you love, what you’re looking for. Then you need to get to know him.” He bit his tongue for a moment before adding, “if he’ll let you”.

 

“How do I do that?” Freddie asked, sounding so innocent and so vulnerable in that moment.

 

“You need to sort out what’s going on with Mary first. Make sure that she understands what’s happening, what role she plays in your life, who gets custody of the cats and when.” Roger joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Then you focus on being the you that you want to be, because that’s the you that Jim’s in love with. Then you wait, and see if the forces of nature are going to bring you back together again.”


	8. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just want you to answer a question of mine, Fred.” He said, taking note of the slump in his shoulders and how unkempt his hair looked. “Who are you? Because you’re not Freddie Mercury, but you’re not not Freddie Mercury.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little reminder that Freddie is 19 here and Jim is 22 (although I know this is majorly confusing with their timelines, this helps to make sense of Freddie's identity crisis + Jim's leniency!)

“You know, leaning forward with your head like that can actually make a broken nose worse.” A voice commented from above Freddie. The latter was hunched over behind the counter at the market, doodling aimlessly on the side of a coffee cup as he tried to soothe both his boredom and his anxiety. The Irishman seemed to tower over him, some unbeatable physical presence that made nervousness leap into Freddie’s throat.

 

Freddie seemed to freeze momentarily once he had locked eyes with Jim, pen still poised in his hands. He had been waiting for what felt like so long, what in reality was a couple of days, each waking moment tormented by some physical or emotional reminder of his own loneliness. He had held out, wanting Jim to make the first move, wanting to know that Jim wanted to reconcile this as much as he did: despite everything that happened, he refused to believe that Jim would throw away what they had.

 

Freddie knew he had a tendency to rush things, to try to lick his wounds while they were still open, putting more strain on everyone who had been involved. He had tried so hard to keep his distance, to limit his time spent staring through the window of the salon or strategically planning his coffee breaks for Jim’s lunches. He couldn’t force fate, and he knew it - he had to let them come together naturally.

 

“Jim-” He said quietly, standing up immediately. He cursed himself for allowing himself to give up hope, to stop putting the foundation over his cheekbones that made him look near normal again. He seemed to shrink, his presence dominated by the ugly scarring that made him want to look away.

 

“I looked for you.” Jim replied, his voice unnervingly steady. “I went back to Holland Road. Your girl there’s very nice, you know? Gave me tea.”

 

Freddie almost cowered from the bitterness in his voice. He had naively hoped that this meeting would be another fairytale moment, an expression of forbidden promises and declarations of love. He hadn’t accounted for anger and bitterness, two emotions that he couldn’t handle; he could barely handle childish love, let alone the adult feelings that came later.

 

“She seemed calm about this whole situation, as though she’d expected half as much.” Jim leaned on the counter, the overwhelmingly dominant force. Freddie swallowed and looked over his shoulder, almost unable to make eye contact in that moment. “She said that you’d gone back home to your parents. I would’ve come, but Highgate’s too far away to travel to when you don’t even have the street name to go off.”

 

“You wanted to see me?” Freddie asked quietly, picking at his nails. “Why didn’t you come here before?”

 

“I didn’t trust you not to make a scene in public. Also, I didn’t think you’d be back around in Kensington so quickly.” Jim allowed himself to be totally honest, acknowledging that it was the best thing possible for their current situation. “I’m glad I found you, though.” His voice softened and Freddie looked up, finally making eye contact.

 

“I had to come back quickly. Need to make up the money for a deposit on a new place.” Freddie said, his smile undoubtedly nervous. He was unusually quiet, subdued, working hard to avoid anything controversial. “And I wanted to see if you’d want to talk to me.” He admitted after a moment, bringing one thumbnail to his lips to bite at nervously.

 

Jim watched the movement closely, noticing how careful and how vulnerable Freddie was being. “I just want you to answer a question of mine, Fred.” He said, taking note of the slump in his shoulders and how unkempt his hair looked. “Who are you? Because you’re not Freddie Mercury, but you’re not not Freddie Mercury.” He smiled a little awkwardly, the tension in the air dissolving between them. “I can’t fucking understand you, and that’s the only way that we’re going to get anywhere.”

 

Freddie felt as though he was noticing himself properly for the first time. He subconsciously pushed his shoulders back, squaring them with his hips, holding himself taller and confident. He brought his hand away from his face and back to his mug, giving himself another object to fixate on; the other hand combed itself through his hair, smoothing it. “I can tell you, if you want to listen to it all.” He held Jim’s eyes this time, forbidding himself from looking afraid.

 

And so Freddie spoke, and Jim listened; and Jim spoke, and Freddie listened.

 

Freddie sat on the balcony of Jim’s apartment, curled up in his old fur coat in one of the loveseats, cigarette in hand. “The last time.” He echoed Jim’s statement, closing his eyes slowly. They were heavy, he was tired, but he was determined.

 

“The last time.” Jim echoed. “I won’t wait forever, Freddie. This is the last time that I give you a chance.” His harsh words were contrasted by his firm arm around Freddie’s waist, holding the other man in so close, close enough to share in the heat coming from his body. “If you’re going to be Freddie Mercury, I’ll be there. If you can’t remember how to be faithful, or you think it’s okay because you’re leading two different lives, I’m not letting you in again.”

 

Freddie rested his chest against Jim’s chest, feeling grounded and stable. The warm wind whipped at his hair, making it tickle his cheek lightly. “I’m not going anywhere.” He murmured, and he truly meant it. No moment had meant more to him. “Where does this leave us?” He asked after a pause, moving his hand to rest against Jim’s belly.

 

“Friends.” Jim replied, his voice firm around the edges but caramel-soft at the centre. “Like in the beginning. We’re going to start from the beginning.” He added, his own eyes drifting up to look at the stars in the sky.

 

Freddie took a long drag from his cigarette, the familiar sensation calming his racing heartbeat. “The beginning.” He echoed again. He picked up Jim’s hand and pressed a tentative, slow kiss to the curve of his wrist, thinking back to their beginning. “I want it to be better.” He said quietly. His eyes had been closed for a while and his breathing was becoming slower, deeper as he moved closer to sleep. “I want to treat you better. I want to spend more time with you.” His lips fluttered against the back of Jim’s hand.

 

“You can.” Jim promised, his own voice low and thick. “Everything can be better, Fred.” He murmured, the deep rumble of the words seeming to roll over Freddie as he finally fell asleep, wrapped in his own bundle of fur. Jim glanced down at Freddie, the man seeming so young as he fell asleep there on his chest. He was reminded of his first thought when he saw Freddie -  _just brushing twenty_ \- and his heart swelled a little. He was willing to try to settle down, to commit, to confront everything that he’d explained scared him. Here he was, nineteen years old, and willing to try. Jim recognised that there would be bumps in the road, slip-ups that left them both angry and upset, but he was willing to ride them if Freddie would try.

 

Jim woke on the balcony the next morning, the warmth on his side having disappeared, but there was a square of paper in his fist.

 

_Gone to work. Breakfast is on the table and I hope you enjoy the coat!_

__-_ Fred _x_ _

  

Jim pulled the fur instinctively closer around himself, thinking about Freddie’s walk in just a shirt and his jeans. He noted the cigarette and the match on the table, his lips curling into a soft smile at Freddie’s version of breakfast. He closed his eyes again and smiled at how thoughtful the gesture was and brought the coat to his face, taking in the smell of cologne and paint - no overpowering florals, just Freddie Mercury.


	9. Red Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn't make any sense for Freddie to save up for a place of his own when it was obvious that he was meant to live with Jim.

Freddie was particular, but Jim didn’t mind that. It was another of the endearing qualities of his personality that he explored every day; he was particular, he was downright fussy sometimes, but he was also so passionate about what he wanted. Maybe they were rushing it, Freddie moving into Jim’s flat after just a few weeks, but Jim regarded it as just another facet of their little unconventional relationship.

 

Jim lifted one of the boxes as he carried it into the bedroom, wondering how Freddie had managed to accumulate such a shoe collection over the last few months. Everything seemed to have fallen into place so naturally so far: Freddie preferred the left side of the bed while he liked the right, he liked to lay out over the sofa while Jim preferred to curl in the corner, running his fingers through his hair - Freddie was even a surprisingly good cook, known to bake surprise muffins after a long day at work. And, Jim considered, that had to be the best part of their whole relationship; slender legs hanging over the arm of the loveseat as he walked through the door, or pencils and paint sprawled across the floor of the balcony, a tinge of white acrylic on a petunia petal that he hoped Jim wouldn’t notice. Freddie loved flowers, but couldn’t look after them for the life of him; Jim loved cats, but always forgot to feed them. Between them, they seemed to make a whole person, the two sides slotting easily into place as they found their routine together. Jim would wake up first, would make the tea and the toast which he would bring to Freddie in bed. Freddie would clean up before he went to his classes, and would be snuggled up in an odd spot when Jim got home, usually with at least two cats, a half-full mug of tea and a smudge of pencil on the end of his nose.

 

“Darling?” Freddie called out as he walked back through the door. “Where shall I put the roses? By the petunias?” He asked. He was incredulous at Jim’s ability to grow anything, loved spending time amongst their little spot of nature on the balcony.

 

“Not the petunias!” Jim replied quickly, coming over to where Freddie stood by the balcony. “You’ll shade them completely. Move the freesias over and put them there.” He smiled as he leaned against the doorframe, watching his housemate rearrange his plants. He had meticulously arranged his house when he had moved in, but it had always looked a little sparse; Jim was almost delighted when Freddie asked if he could bring a few items of furniture with him. There was the upright piano as the headboard, the very thing that seemed to express the essence of Freddie; the heavy quilt that he had brought for the bed that felt like being wrapped in a hug all night; and the grand piano that he had begged to put by the patio doors. When Freddie begged like that, Jim simply couldn’t resist him, and the armchair that had been there was repurposed into Freddie’s favourite corner of the bedroom instead. “You know, I’d never thought that I’d live in a house with a grand piano.” He told Freddie, watching as he wiped his hands and stood up to admire his work.

 

“I never thought that I’d live in a house with its own forest.” Freddie replied, walking over to Jim and wrapping his arms around his neck. “I know it’s a little big for this apartment, darling. Thank you for letting me bring it.” He smiled as he kissed Jim slowly, the moment so chaste between the two but so full of love.

 

“I would never have said no.” Jim smiled against his lover’s lips as they kissed slowly. “I just never imagined myself with some vivacious artist-come-singer who would want to inject a little sparkle into my life.” He traced his thumb over the scar above Freddie’s eyebrow, humming lightly.

 

“It was fate that brought us together, darling.” Freddie said, pulling Jim to sit down on their loveseat on the balcony. “I’m the roses, and you’re the petunias, and they just look so wonderful together in a bouquet.” He smiled as he watched Romeo bat at one of the petals lightly with the pad of his paw. 

 

Jim chuckled, the sound warm at the back of his throat, and carefully picked a rose from the plant before picking the thorns off carefully. “I know I shouldn’t, my love-” He started as he twined the stem through the lengths of Freddie’s hair. “But the red just compliments your skin so well.” He tucked it behind his ear, smiling at the familiar blush that touched Freddie’s cheeks.

 

“I love you.” Freddie said quietly as he cupped Jim’s cheek, moving forward a little. “I know I shouldn’t say it yet, we’re not even together, but I can’t help it. I love you, darling.” He whispered, his eyes so bright in that moment. Jim could see how genuine he was, how he was almost overcome by the emotion, how the words seemed to have command over his whole being.

 

“We’ve been together for a long time, Freddie.” Jim smiled in response, watching every contour of his face change to one of delight. “Maybe not officially. But you’ve had my heart since that first day at the market when you slipped up on your name and helped me find another mirror.” He closed the gap between them, kissing him slowly again. “You made me forget that we weren’t official.” He smiled as they pulled away. He sat back carefully, taking both of Freddie’s hands.

 

He looked over the man in front of him, the red of his lips the same shade as the red of the rose, and couldn’t help the smile that flooded his face. “Freddie Mercury…” He murmured, bringing both of Freddie’s hands to his lips and kissing each set of knuckles in turn. “Be mine, gorgeous?” He asked with a smile.

 

He watched every emotion as he seemed to crash through Freddie at once, leaving him at once with a face of shock and then of pure elation. “You romantic bastard.” He replied, unable to stop himself laughing as he launched himself at Jim, kissing him harder than he ever had before. Jim rested a hand in Freddie’s hair as he kissed him equally as passionately, his back against the arm of the sofa and Freddie almost completely in his lap. He knocked the rose out of place and caught it before it could be squashed, holding it tenderly in his palm like it was the emblem of their relationship.

 

“Freddie-” He laughed as Freddie used the break to kiss over Jim’s jaw. “Gorgeous, you’ve got to go to work. I’m not having you leeching off of me like some kind of freeloader.” Both men laughed, Freddie breaking away to look up at Jim’s face. “Come, sit down here for a second. Look out into the world.”

 

Freddie did as he was told, sitting down on the floor in front of Jim’s legs and looking over the balcony, out into the life on the street below. People laughing, people calling to one another, the bustle of midday and the happiness of summer seeming to combine into an atmosphere that felt purposeful yet excited simultaneously.

 

He was distracted by fingers in his hair, carefully taking a piece of hair from behind his ear and twisting it expertly until it held itself in place. The familiar weight of the flower came next, pinned to the crown of his head by a pin holding it safe and secure. Freddie smiled at the feeling of Jim doing his hair, relaxing and letting the tension melt out of his shoulders. “Thank you, my dear.” He said, grinning in that unabashed way that Jim saw so rarely.

 

“No problem, my love. I can’t have my little songbird going to work looking anything other than his best.” Jim grinned as they both stood up. Freddie brought that fur coat back up over his shoulders, the fur tickling Jim’s arm that he had so close by. Jim regarded him for a second before grinning: dark hair, fur coat and a rose in his hair, looking like a still from a Hollywood movie. “You look beautiful.” He murmured as he wrapped an arm around that small waist, pressing one last kiss to Freddie’s lips. 

 

“It’s your turn to cook.” Freddie grinned into the kiss, cupping both sides of Jim’s face so carefully. “I’ll be home at seven. I love you.” He repeated it again, not scared of the reaction this time, and carefully broke away from the kiss. 

 

Jim smiled, the emotion filling him with that same youthful vivacity that Freddie seemed to still be able to cling onto. “I love you too, gorgeous.” He paused momentarily, his thumb brushing over Freddie’s lower lip. “You better go before Roger kicks your ass.”

 

Freddie laughed and set off on the walk, the warmth from outside seeming to multiply with the warmth in his chest. It was too hot for the coat, but it smelled like Jim by now, and something in it soothed him and made him more confident all in one.

 

Roger whistled as Freddie came in, taking one look at the blush still staining his skin and assuming the worst. Brian gave him a look, smiling at Freddie as he came over to the two of them. Brian, like Jim, was always at the stall, although he didn’t have a job there. “Afternoon, Fred. I like your hair.” He complimented and Freddie’s hand flew up to touch the rose, having forgotten all about it.

 

“Good morning?” Roger asked with a grin, leaning back in the chair. 

 

“Moved in this morning.” Freddie grinned, his face not unlike a teenager talking of her first boyfriend. “And thank you, Brian. Jim did it before I left.” Freddie’s voice was soft but he looked undeniably happy as he shed the coat, hanging it up, careful not to disturb the pin in his hair.

 

Roger and Brian glanced at each other and Roger grinned, holding out a hand. “Five quid. Pay up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that this is fic is going to be a little longer - I'm also considering writing a sequel! I have too much inspiration for these two idiots to leave it at 11 chapters. Please leave a comment if that's something you want to see!


	10. Dark Corners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes eagerness doesn't always pay off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I've painted Freddie's parents as very strict Zoroastrians here, and I don't know how accurate that is. Just remember, people can change their minds. The references to prison are accurate to Irish timelines - homosexuality stopped having life in prison as the maximum sentence once Jim had turned 18.

The house was eerily quiet as Jim bumped the door open with his hip; no music playing, no Freddie on piano, no singing as he did the dishes, not even the mindless hum of the television in the background. He expected to see legs over the arm of the sofa from where his lover lay sprawled, or to hear crashing from where he was cooking, or the gentle murmur of Freddie talking to himself as he painted. Life with Freddie Mercury was neither calm nor still, but an explosion of colour and a mixture of laughter and music that Jim felt he could become drunk on.

 

His house had started to echo Freddie’s presence, and he couldn’t deny that he loved it. While he had been so meticulous before, fastidious and precise, Freddie brought with him an inherent chaos that manifested itself in a riot of colour and noise. The otherwise monochrome surfaces were often splashed with paint, the house was filled with voice or piano or the old guitar that he’d somehow found hidden under their bed. The only untouched corners were the shadowy ones, the ones where the sun didn’t have a complete hold. The ones that never saw the gold of the sunshine through the balcony doors or the scarlet sunrise through the bedroom windows.

 

Freddie’s shoes sat by the door, his keys hanging in the rack. The phone was off the hook, the receiver hanging down from its holder. “Freddie?” Jim called out, putting the two coffees in his hands down on the counter and toeing off his shoes. “Love, where are you?” He repeated, keeping his voice soft. 

 

He got no response. He walked into the kitchen first, glancing around to see only hungry cats. Next he tried the lounge, the cushions of the sofa ruffled from their usual occupant. There was a half-full mug of tea on the coffee table next to a sketchpad, pencils spread about hastily. A couple had rolled across the floor. The sight worried Jim slightly, an ache blossoming in his chest. He had never truly worried about Freddie, the man always seeming so in control of every situation, but it wasn’t like Freddie to leave something so untidy. He glanced over the piano and out onto the balcony, the door ajar and letting in the warm breeze from outside.

 

“Freddie?” Jim called out again. He found no sign of Freddie in the bathroom, leaving only the bedroom to be explored. “Fred?” He asked, voice quieter as he approached the room, pushing the door open. He found Freddie, back to the door, tucked on the floor by the other side of the bed. His hands were shaking, one set of knuckles bruised, the damage still fresh and pink. His breathing was coming quickly, short and pained gasps that seemed so hard to make. “Freddie-” Jim started again, moving closer to the younger man, when he stopped in his tracks.

 

“Don’t.” Freddie said, his voice sharp. “Don’t come anywhere near me.” Jim’s heart leaped into his throat as he tentatively moved closer, leaning down beside him in an attempt to comfort me.

 

“Freddie, what-” He asked, resting a hand on Freddie’s shoulder. He was shaking as though he was about to break, as though he needed to be physically held together by a pair of strong hands and a stronger mind.

 

“Don’t.” He repeated, but his voice was more of a croak. “Darling, please-” His voice trembled and he bit his lower lip, looking down at his knees. He couldn’t meet Jim’s eyes as he violently threw his hand from his shoulder. 

 

Jim felt that there was a cycle with Freddie. There was this confident, exuberant Freddie, the one that seemed to know his place in the world and was happy with it. There was Freddie the artist, Freddie the singer, Freddie the musician, this outrageous, vivacious, gorgeous and debauched pinnacle of cosmopolitan London. This Freddie was scarlet, deep blue, royal purple, trimmed with white fur. His voice was satin, his touch was cashmere, his kisses tasted like whipped cream and whiskey.

 

However, there was this Freddie - the Freddie that wanted to push him away, to push everyone away. His words were icy, he was closed in. He was cold like metal, unfeeling, unseeing and unknowing. 

 

“What happened?” Jim asked quietly, sitting opposite Freddie. His back was to the wall, the cool of the bricks slowly making its way through his shirt to numb his skin. 

 

Freddie brought his thumb to his mouth, ripping at a hangnail. He watched it bleed with a detached fascination, his mind lost in the colour against his skin. “I told them.” He pressed down on the tiny tear. “I told them about you.”

 

Jim leaned forward to take his hand, feeling a sense of relief when Freddie let him take it. He carefully ran his thumb over the bruising on his knuckles and counted each bone in turn, finding comfort in such a mundane action. It had been repeated a thousand times; in bed, watching a film, while eating, over the counter in the market. “How did it go?”

 

“About as well as you’d expect.” When Freddie finally looked up, Jim was surprised to see a look of frustration on his face instead of the sadness he’d been expecting. “Dad started yelling about being a proper son. He reminded me of everything that he’d done to try and make a good Parsi boy of me.” His face twisted into some kind of horrified smile that made Jim’s gut twist violently. “He reminded me of my obligations to the family. He reminded me that I’m an inherent disappointment because I won’t carry the family name. He reminded me that it makes me a devil worshipper. He even threw in there that I can be killed for it.” He looked away again. Jim could see the fast, unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

 

Jim stayed quiet but pressed an unsure kiss to his hand. He didn’t want to push into Freddie’s space, but he also knew that it was best for him to be close by. “Mum wants to meet you.” Freddie said after a while. “I think she wants to know that I’m not making it up. I think she’s pretending that she’s not bothered by it.” He let out a shaky sigh and moved closer to Jim. “I’m disgusting. They’re disgusted by me.” He whispered, closing his eyes as Jim pulled him close.

 

“You’re not, Freddie.” Jim promised, running his fingers through Freddie’s hair. “You’re not disgusting in the slightest. It’s a shock for them, it’ll take time, but you’ll all get through it.” He felt Freddie nod against his chest and allowed himself to be encouraged by the small gesture of acceptance. “I told my parents when I was seventeen. They threatened to kick me out.” He offered, a small admittance that he rarely talked about. “They knew I could get life in prison, and they didn't care. That’s why I moved to London.”

 

Freddie glanced up at him. There was a touch of disbelief around his eyes, contradicting the complete faith of his naivety. “You get life in prison, I get death.” His small, sad laugh was more of a hiccup. “If I were a woman and you were straight, this would be so much easier.” He joked. Jim gave him a small squeeze, holding him tightly around the waist.

 

“I love you.” Jim promised him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re not going to die, Freddie, and I’m not going to prison. We’re going to stay right here, and we’re going to look after each other, and if I never see my family again, I don’t give a damn, because I’ve got you.”

 

Freddie leaned up to kiss him properly, cupping the side of his face with a shaky hand. “I love you too.” He whispered against his lips. He kissed him again, closing his eyes and losing himself in it. When he broke away, it was with another whisper; “Kash really wants to meet you, darling.”


	11. Candy Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always scary to have your family meet your boyfriend, even if it is only your younger sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so unbelievably domestic - it's definitely not as well written as it could be, but it's only a sweet little filler before the next piece of action. I promise I haven't forgotten about fluorescent - update coming soon!

“You’re ready early, my love.” Jim wrapped his arms around Freddie from behind, pressing a kiss to his temple. “The table isn’t booked until eight. Did you want to go out for drinks beforehand?” He asked. Freddie was in front of the bathroom mirror, looking delectable as always; Jim felt a sight for sore eyes, still dressed in his workwear. “If you give me a little time then I’ll be ready to go.”

 

Freddie caught his eyes in the mirror, a smile spreading across his face. “Darling…” He murmured, getting momentarily lost in the warm lips ghosting over his jawline and down his neck. “You’re insatiable.” He tilted his head back and caught Jim’s lips in a chaste kiss. “But I simply can’t go out with you tonight.”

 

Freddie’s heart swelled as Jim broke away from the embrace, pouting like a small child. “Why not?” He asked quietly, taking one of Freddie’s hands in his own. He loved their date nights; there was a small part of him that was filled with pride whenever he got to take Freddie out, to show him off. There was something incredible about having the man that everybody noticed, that no one else could touch. Freddie was like a beacon of light wherever they went, simply demanding attention with his soft touches and soft words. He was a man of contrasts, not masculine but definitely not feminine, a fur coat wrapped tightly around his shoulders and paired with sunglasses. People got lost in his image, in his voice, in imagining a thousand and one things that they could do with him - it was Jim who got that pleasure.

 

“Kash called.” He said softly, squeezing Jim’s hand. “She’s got the flu and Mum and Dad are in Kent.” Jim tucked a stray piece of hair behind Freddie’s ear - it was just begging to be cut, but Freddie wouldn’t let him anywhere near it until it got a little longer. He thought that trimming the ends would kill the curls that stood out so beautifully against his skin. “I promised that I could provide company and medicine.”

 

Jim looked down at the red of Freddie’s lips, feeling drawn towards them as if by force. He kissed him, long and slow, one hand in his hair and the other on his waist. Freddie held onto him so carefully, two arms coming to lock behind his neck, one foot on tiptoe and the other raised behind him. It seemed like forever before they pulled away. “Can I come?” Jim asked quietly, slowly running his fingers through the curls.

 

Freddie stopped to consider it for a second. It felt so vulnerable, Jim meeting a member of his family. Kash was the most accepting of them all, and she had said she wanted to meet Jim, but he couldn’t help but worry about the worst case possible. He brought his hand to Jim’s cheek, running his thumb over the bone, the rejection on the tip of his tongue before he met Jim’s eyes.

 

There was the man that he loved, that he trusted, that he dedicated every single second of his time to. Here was the man that looked after him when he was sick, who cooked for him after an exam, who reminded him to do the laundry. The man that kept his flowers alive, the man that seemed to be able to find a hundred new ways to style his hair so that he never had to wear the same look twice. He was the man that he sought in comfort, in happiness, in excitement and in fear. He was speaking before he could recognise it. “I’d like that.” He said softly, an almost-nervous smile on his face.

 

“Thank you.” Jim said, the excitement evident in the slightly-higher pitch of his voice. “You talk about Kash so much, I’ve wanted to meet her for so long.”

 

“Imagine me, but with better hair.” Freddie joked, laughing when Jim let out an indignant gasp. “She’s the unstoppable force, I’m the immovable object.”

 

“I think you’ll find that your hair is a work of art that I’ve spent a lot of time on.” Jim grinned. “She sounds amazing. I’ll go and get changed.”

 

Kash opened the door to two faces looking back at her. One was the familiar face of her brother, sharp cheekbones and deep, romantic colours. The other, though, was unfamiliar, softer lines complemented by the soft hair in a halo around his head. “You should’ve said that you were bringing company.” She chastised Freddie, the blush mixing with the warmth of her fever. 

 

“Oh, darling, don’t be dramatic.” Freddie smiled. “This isn’t any old company. This is Jim.” He said. The statement was so simple, but the word was filled with such tenderness, such love, that Jim inadvertently glanced over at Freddie. The younger man squeezed his hand in reply. “I brought you medicine.” He lifted the bag, treating it like a peace offering.

 

“Fine.” She begrudged, but still flashed a warm smile in Jim’s direction. “You know, Freddie, it’s all the more reason to give me a warning if you’re going to bring your boyfriend over for me to meet.” She pointed out, heading back up the stairs. Freddie followed her, and Jim followed him, their hands still clinging on tightly. 

 

Kash turned around suddenly, reaching a hand out for Jim to shake. “It’s still lovely to meet you. I’m Kash.” She smiled. “I’d give you a hug, but I don’t think you want whatever this is.” Jim grinned in response, shaking her hand.

 

“I’m Jim. Jim Hutton.” He said, sounding almost shy. 

 

“You needn’t sound so nervous, darling.” Freddie smiled, sitting on one side of Kash’s bed. She went and lay back down amongst her covers, shivering from the cold. 

 

Kash poked him slightly as Jim settled comfortably in the armchair across from the bed. “Freddie, be nice. It’s a big thing.” She said with a smile, turning to rifle through the bag that he’d brought in. “Although, I promise that I’m usually a lot more bubbly and a lot more pretty than this.” She joked.

 

“He’s gay, darling.” Freddie said, his voice tinged with humour as he saw Jim’s smile touch his eyes. 

 

“That’s not the point,  _ darling. _ ” Kash shot back, making Jim laugh. “It’s the principle. The first time I meet your boyfriend shouldn’t be when I haven’t even done my hair.”

 

“I could sort that out for you.” Jim offered, shooting Kash a smile. Kash made a little inquisitive noise as she grabbed the tablets from the bag and her water bottle from the side. 

 

“He’s a hairdresser.” Freddie added, swatting Kash’s hands away as she tugged at his long hair.

 

“That figures. You’re looking the best I’ve seen you in a while.” Her tone was joking, but there was a deeper compliment hidden in there for the both of them: Freddie looked happier, healthier, wasn’t carrying the characteristic bags around his eyes from when his exams kept him awake with worry. He had more vivacity now, more animation, seemed less afraid of his own shadow. He was back to how he was a long time ago, all those months ago when he’d been happy with Mary and his world hadn’t come crashing down around him.

 

Deep purples. Royal blues. Scarlets.

 

“I’d like that.” Kash said to Jim, letting her hair down from the messy top knot that it had been in. “It’s something of a mess right now, I’m sorry.”

 

Jim came over to the bed, settling himself in between the two of them. He almost got distracted when Freddie’s fingers rubbed over his arm. “Your hair is lovely.” He commented, his voice soft as he grabbed a brush from the nightstand and carefully worked out the knots. “I’m trying to convince Fred to grow his, what do you think?” He asked, voice light and gentle.

 

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to have him looking better than I do. I can’t have my own brother outshine me.” She giggled, enjoying how careful he was to fix her hair. “Freddie, I take everything back about needing a warning. I love him, bring him over all the time.”

 

Freddie laughed, settling his head in Jim’s lap and looking up at where he was brushing Kash’s long hair. “I love him too. You’ll be seeing a lot more of him.” His voice was equally soft, but he felt so alive in that moment; to watch Jim be accepted was like watching himself be accepted, be loved.

 

“How long have you been together?” Kash asked, tilting her head carefully to the side so that Jim could brush out her parting. In turning her head, she saw her brother and smiled involuntarily. 

 

“Officially, or unofficially?” Jim asked, delighting in the sound of Freddie’s laugh. “Officially, about a month. Unofficially, somewhere closer to three or four months.” He smiled.

 

“We’ve been living together for a month, too.” Freddie added, closing his eyes and letting his long legs stretch out over the covers. 

 

“Does that mean that he knows how much you steal the blankets?” Kash asked with a smirk, enjoying the small twists that Jim was pinning into her hair.

 

“I do not steal the blankets!” Freddie insisted, blushing quickly.

 

“I do know.” Jim nodded, grinning at her. “He likes to pretend that he’s keeping the cats warm. I get revenge by putting my cold feet on his back.” He laughed at the memory, glancing at Freddie and winking quickly.

 

“I do have to keep the cats warm!” He insisted. “No way is Goliath going cold in my household!”

 

Kash watched the two of them, so comfortable with each other, so domestic in their lover’s tiffs. “You know, Freddie’s had a terrible taste in women until now.” She told Jim. “And I think I’ve discovered why. I think he’s been waiting for you the whole time.”


	12. Silk Bedsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men discuss their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be angst but these two idiots (and Lindsey) demanded that I write something cute so you'll have to watch out for the next chapter instead!

Freddie’s lips closed around the end of the cigarette, his eyes slowly opening as he blew smoke at the ceiling. “That was fun.” The smile was evident in his voice as Jim pulled his naked body closer. A laugh bubbled through his chest as he curled closer to his lover.

 

“You were so loud!” Jim laughed in response, carding a hand through Freddie’s hair slowly. “I pity your sister. She’s only in the room over.” He stole the cigarette from Freddie, taking a long drag. He felt comforted by the heavy weight of Freddie against his side, warm skin pressed against his own. “You never warned me that you were going to be that loud.”

 

“Singers do it louder.” He smirked, glancing up at Jim with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Besides, you were hardly silent.” He ran a finger over a fresh love-bite on Jim’s shoulder. “I think there’s a little hypocrisy going on here, darling.”

 

Jim laughed again, popping the cigarette back between Freddie’s lips. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done it the first time in your childhood bedroom.” He reasoned, hand skimming over Freddie’s ribs lightly. 

 

“Are you trying to pretend you didn’t have a good time?” Freddie laughed as he straddled his boyfriend. “You were saying otherwise a few seconds ago, you know?” He stubbed out the cigarette and leaned down to kiss his boyfriend slowly, tangling a hand in his hair.

 

Jim cupped one of Freddie’s cheeks in his hand, the other resting lightly against his lower back. “You’re the worst.” He grinned as he kissed back, pulling him closer.

 

“You also weren’t saying that.” Freddie replied, squealing when Jim slapped his ass playfully. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Hutton.” His smile was crooked and genuine as he narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have you on your knees in seconds.”

 

“Freddie!” Jim pushed him off carefully, watching as he landed in a tangle amongst the sheets, shaking from how hard he was laughing. “Kash is going to take everything back that she said about us.” Freddie laughed as he leaned in for another kiss, more chaste this time.

 

“Kash is happy that I finally admitted to the world and myself that I’m a queen, darling.” He replied sweetly, resting his hand lightly against Jim’s chest. “And trust me, she’s thrilled about you. I think she’d have you herself if you weren’t gay, and I wouldn’t blame her.”

 

Jim chuckled lightly, twirling a piece of hair around his finger. “You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” He asked lightly, running a thumb over his cheekbone. The blush on his cheeks made Jim’s heart swell with warmth. “I could look at you forever.”

 

Freddie caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, Jim Hutton.” He said softly, pressing his cheek to Jim’s hand. “I love you so much.” He smiled, his voice so earnest.

 

“I love you too, Freddie Mercury.” Jim squeezed his hand lightly and brought him closer again. 

 

“Do you think we’ll be together forever?” The question from Freddie was quiet, almost nervous in tone, muttered into the skin of Jim’s chest. Jim looked down to see his hair, curled so artfully, tickling across his collarbones and smiled.

 

“I hope so.” Jim replied, kissing the top of his head. “Because I don’t plan on going anywhere, my love, and I hope you don’t either.”

 

Freddie brought the covers up around them, getting himself as warm and as close as possible. “I don’t think I could want to be anywhere else in the whole world if I tried.” His voice was barely a whisper, lulled towards sleep; those fingers tracing shapes on his side made him feel so protected.

 

“I always used to wonder what it would feel like to fall in love.” Jim admitted, voice equally quiet. “Like, whether it would be a gradual thing, or if you’d know all at once.” He started to trace love hearts on his ribs, smiling into the quiet of the room. They were so comfortable with each other, so trusting of one another. Freddie would flinch from touches from other people, but he’d never done so from Jim; he trusted that every touch would be gentle, be soothing. Jim had always found it awkward to talk about his emotions, but the words seemed to come more easily now than before.

 

Freddie closed his eyes, enjoying the way that the words rumbled through Jim’s chest. His tired voice was so low, so quiet, the accent by now so familiar. “And what was it like?” He asked quietly, his lips ghosting over his skin.

 

“It was both, I guess.” Jim smiled, bringing him closer still. “When I saw you, I knew that you were going to change my life.” He admitted. He tucked the blanket over Freddie’s side carefully, feeling how cold the skin there was. “And I think I fell in love there. But I think, there’s almost… a spectrum of love?” He said softly. “Because I think I fall more and more in love with you each day.”

 

Freddie pressed a kiss to his skin, glad that he didn’t have to try and hide his blush. “Oh? What makes you think that?” His voice was playful, he knew that Jim was indulging him: he loved to listen to him talk. 

 

“I think love was a very superficial thing on that first day.” He said softly. “I fell in love with the way you looked and acted. I fell in love with the way your hair curled in your face, with that awful fur coat that you wear all the time, and with that lip-gloss stain on your coffee cup.” He felt Freddie’s shy giggle, making him grin. “Then I fell in love with how you talked and acted towards Roger, and then me.” He moved his hand up to play with his hair. “Then, when you moved in, I think that’s when I really fell in love. I started to fall in love with the little things you do, like the way that you always leave the last little bit in the bottom of your teacup, or the way that you force one of the cats to be pet if you feel like they’re being left out. I fell in love with how you always make the bed in the morning because you know I hate doing it. I could’ve cried when you made those little heart-shaped muffins for Valentine’s day.”

 

Freddie looped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. “You know what I fell in love with?” He asked in response. “I fell in love with how you’ve become less shy around me. You were scared to even ask my name on that first day.” He laughed, cold fingers holding him tight. “I love how you’ve taken the time to get to know me, instead of just taking the persona to be the whole picture. I love how you always know the right thing to say, you know when to ignore what I’m saying and then when to respect what I have to say.” He fell quiet for a few moments. “I love how determined you are. I love the fact that you know what you want to do, and you know that you’ll do it. I love that you find these little rituals like bringing me coffee on my Sunday shifts. I love that you’re terrible at cleaning.” Freddie laughed at the little punch on the arm. “There’s nothing about you that I’d change.”

 

Jim pressed another kiss to his head. “You better stop talking before I do something dumb like ask you to marry me.” He laughed.

 

Freddie chuckled in response. “You know I’d say yes in a heartbeat, darling.”

 

“You would?” Jim asked softly.

 

“Of course I would.” Freddie smiled. “You go out there and change the law, and I’ll be your lawfully wedded bride.” He started to laugh again.

 

“No one said anything about it needing to be in the eyes of the law.” Jim grinned. “We’re nothing if not unconventional, my love.”

 

Freddie grinned. “I guess not, my darling.” They both fell silent; Jim assumed that Freddie had finally fallen asleep. “So, are we going to?” He asked after a while.

 

Jim jumped. “Going to what, my love?”

 

“Get married.” Freddie responded, tracing over Jim’s wedding finger.

 

Jim’s face split into a huge smile. “You’ll have to wait and see, gorgeous.”


	13. Moet and Chandon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't often seem to go to plan.

Jim had always loved to watch Freddie when he was asleep. It seemed to him that there could be nothing more peaceful in the world than Freddie, curled up tightly, tucked into the embrace of Jim’s arm. He took up such a small amount of room in such a big bed, drowned out by countless pillows, extra blankets, a thick duvet that he tucked up to his nose. His face never looked anything except the picture of pure content, dark eyelashes resting heavy on his cheeks, red lips parted ever so slightly, the gentle breath dancing over Jim’s collarbone. He was heavy, he was warm, such a comforting presence.

 

Jim had never been comfortable for the first night in a new house; he was glad that he didn’t have to spend the night alone, that he could be comfortable in Freddie’s presence by his side. He shifted slightly, pulling him closer, intertwining their bodies so comfortably. He rested his chin on the top of Freddie’s head, feeling the soft huff of his lover beginning to wake. 

 

He had mapped out every stage of how Freddie woke. His breathing became more shallow, less even than it was at rest; he usually took a deep breath as his fingers gripped onto what was closest - by now, that was usually Jim’s arm or shirt. He made the most endearing little noises, a tiny little groan as he rolled out the stiff muscles in his neck. He would open his eyes as he tilted his head up to meet Jim’s eyes, so used to his lover being the one to wake early. He smiled every morning, some mornings wider than others, and every time a little part of Jim fell more in love. Jim would kiss him slowly while he was still in that daze, so warm and comfortable, so unfazed by the rest of the day.

 

Fingers had just clutched at his shirt when the door banged open, throwing them both off kilter. “Get out!” A voice shouted, and Freddie startled. He tugged the blanket over them quickly. “Get out!” Freddie matched the voice to that of his father; his heart leaped into his mouth.

 

“Dad-” Freddie said quickly, sitting up to look at his father. “Dad, wait-”

 

“I will not have you lie with another man in my household.” Bomi spat, glancing dismissively over the both of them. “You want to disgrace me, you do it somewhere else.”

 

“Dad-” Both Kash and Freddie spoke simultaneously; Kash rested a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Dad, let them get dressed.” She implored. Jim gripped Freddie’s wrist as he went to stand, suddenly caught in a situation that he didn’t know how to deal with.

 

“You think I’m a disgrace?” The room suddenly fell silent as Freddie spoke. “You think I’m a disgrace because you find me asleep with the man I’ve been with for months?” He shook off Jim’s hand and walked over to his father. “Take a fucking look at yourself.”

 

“Freddie-” Kash warned, but Freddie wasn’t about to be pushed aside. “I love him!” He shouted, watching his father recoil. “All you’ve ever wanted was for me to settle down. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

 

Jim came up behind him; the hand on his waist was so familiar and so comforting. Freddie glanced up at him quickly, feeling the anger start to melt away from him. “Let’s go.” Jim said quietly. “We’ll just get dressed, and we’ll go.” He addressed Bomi directly, trying to defuse the situation. 

 

Jim hated the way that Freddie would set his jaw when he was upset. He took a strange pride in never showing people when they’d upset him, when they’d made him want to cry.

 

The afternoon was cold around them; even with Jim’s jacket, Freddie was still shivering. He kicked stones as they walked along, not being able to find the words to start a conversation that might take their mind off things. Although his demeanor was cold, his grip on Jim’s hand was tight: he had always found comfort in physical touch. Jim gave his hand a careful squeeze, watching to see if Freddie acknowledged it in any way: the relaxing of his eyebrows was what he received in return. Jim enjoyed that he could change tiny things when Freddie was unhappy, enjoyed knowing that he was useful in some way in these situations.

 

“I hate him.” Freddie said as soon as the door was closed. “He’s so fucking bigoted, he won’t even open his eyes.” Freddie’s hands were balled into fists, as though he were about to hit something - Jim had only seen him angry a few times before, and didn’t like the chances of the mirror in the hallway.

 

Jim walked over to him and cupped his cheek, kissing him slowly. “Relax.” He said softly, picking up one of Freddie’s hands and carefully massaging it. “He’ll come around. He’ll realise how happy you are. He won’t shut you out forever.” He promised, pressing a careful kiss to Freddie’s knuckles.

 

Freddie let his fists uncurl and watched Jim’s face. “I love you.” He said quietly, pressing a small kiss to the apple of Jim’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” Jim said softly. “I’m so proud of you, you know? I love you so much.” He pressed a kiss to Freddie’s lips as an idea came through his head. Jim picked him up suddenly, delighting in the squeak that it received from Freddie. He carried him into the bedroom and threw him down on the bed; he pressed a kiss to each cheek in turn. “Make yourself look pretty. I’m taking you out tonight.”

 

A smile finally bloomed on Freddie’s lips, and Jim grinned in return. “Anywhere you want. I’ll take you for a fancy dinner and drinks on Southbank, or we can go to Heaven, or we can find a terrible gig, or we can go and get shitfaced in Camden.”

 

“Let’s go for dinner. You can treat me like a real lady.” Freddie started to grin as Jim looked through their closet. “And I want a bottle of Moet.”

 

“You better choose a three-piece suit then, Mr. Mercury.” Jim lay out his own outfit on the bed beside Freddie. “I’m going to spoil you rotten.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know if you're enjoying art student Freddie as much as I am. Also, apologies if you're not from the UK, there might be little references that you don't quite understand - feel free to drop a comment below if that's the case! As always, I love and appreciate all of your comments and kudos, and you can send me any requests on tumblr /immistermercury.


End file.
